Effect System
by headphone frenzy
Summary: Wes never felt bad for doing what he did. He found it amusing in all actuallity. To hate the one who loves you, and lust for those who use you. Wes x Brendan/Ruby. AU. One Shot. Limey lemon!


Effect System.

Headphone does not own.

Ha.

So, was this really how it started?

Well, who knows?

In actuality, I hated the vile creature that called herself 'Rui'. She was aggravating, indecent, and followed me around heel-to-heel like I was the placebo of a cancer patient. Needless to say, I was at this point in time in where even my knuckles wanted to be bashed through her skull. But, like the good boy I am, I know it's wrong to hit a lady, regardless of size or strength, so I always kept my hands neatly in my pockets and just cringed really, _really_, hard. My teeth hurt from being clenched sometimes.

"So, I was thinking that maybe after we go to the mall we can..."

Tangents, one after the other. The whole of her talking was like shooting a gun itself through my mind, with a splitting headache and general convulsing involved, but I bore it. I held up, and hopefully she would go and away after catching my hints.

Part of me knew I was lying to myself.

Ten minutes passed, which turned into fifteen more, then half an hour, which transformed into 45 minutes and days and months and so-forth of my precious time, completely wasted. All because of her, and her god-forsaken mouth of obscenities.

"And maybe you can take me out to eat…"

Her demands were always stupid, idiotic, moronic, yet I once heard somewhere that to be a fool was to know pure bliss. But, if she would only shut her yap longer then it would take to breathe, then maybe I could persuade myself that I was the only fool there. But still, to no avail.

If there was a single word to describe our relationship, on my half it would be 'hate', and on hers it would be 'love'. The whole thing was as one-sided as anything could get, but she was obviously too obsessed with the vanity of herself that she couldn't see how much I cringed at her glances, grimaced at her hand reaching for mine, and completely scowled when she would _dare_ to kiss me. How dare she think she deserved that, I kept thinking to myself. Yet, I never coaxed an answer to run through my system.

Oh, how I hated her.

No, scratch out hate. I _loathed_ her. (But I honestly doubt she had a single clue as to what that meant. What a horrible creature.)

But, in actuality, I presume it's a bit funny. If you think about it, that is. The whole time I hated her, I was thinking of someone else. Someone that deserved to be near me, unlike the wench of the west. Someone with black hair, eyes as red as ruby, and a frown that could paralyze my spine in split seconds. Though, while Rui thought I was a homophobe, I was not. In actuality, it was quiet the opposite. Because, while she thought that when she was at my side, clinging and groping around my shoulders, I was 'infatuated' with her and her uncouth appearance, I was thinking of someone else entirely, with opposite hair, brain-capacity, and gender.

Yes, the person I infatuated myself with was male.

But, who cares?

(x)

Ha.

So, was this really how it started?

Who cares?

In actuality, I always found myself infatuated. Surely it was noticeable, but I always thought that I hid it well under my love-stroke hormone-ragging teenager act. People always assumed that I was completely and entirely attracted to my best friend, Sapphire, considering how beautiful and caring she always was, but that wasn't even close. Dainty and fragile are what I used to describe her, but never 'loving' or 'affectionate'. Battle and combat was what we had done, since we learned how to speak on friendly manners and mannerisms.

I never thought of her as 'sexy' or 'hot'. Those adjectives were saved for a different person. (And the sheer thought of anyone describing her as such struck me with a violent urge to up-chuck and fall faintly to the ground. It was disgusting!)

This person was so entirely different, in fact, that it was like the polar opposite of her. All of my affection was directed towards someone with pale, almost white hair, pulled up behind broad sunglasses and gelled to a point that you could smell the scentless hair product, tall as a bean-stalk, and slim like one too. Sure, it was a bit odd for me to think about it, but when I did, I would think of the piercing yellow eyes they had, and how I always felt a chill run down my spine when I would be cornered by them.

Yellow as the friendliest sun, yet as piercing and unforgiving as a golden dagger.

Wes was his name. I was always afraid to think it, let alone say it, since I always felt he could read straight through my masks, no matter how thick or thin.

Yes, _his_ name, not _her_. Now, don't get me wrong. I equally appreciated a well-rounded pair of pink breasts as much as the next young lad, but I was equally attracted and appealed by Wes. No, not by boys and men and penises. No, just Wes. He was the only one who could make my heart swell and my pants tighten. And before you ask, yes, I do mean what you think I mean.

We had this sort of relationship, he and I.

And the only other person who knew of it was the Janitor and his closet. While I did spend a good deal of my free periods in that closet, being screwed senseless, I always made sure that no evidence was left behind, since we told the poor old coot we were using his closet for a 'bit of piece and quiet', plus we 'needed a bit of a nicotine break'. The old man left it as it was and had no idea what his supplies-filled closet was actually being used for. I felt bad, but just brushed it off as a 'necessity'.

To touch, and be touched, are so similar yet entirely different. In one, you feel how the other person's skin feels against your own, and you feel how their clothes feel once discarded. Yet, in the other, you now realize what it feels like to become undressed by someone other then yourself or your mother, and you figure out the emotions of what it feels like when someone's nails are digging deep into your back.

The latter one hurt, by the way. After our first time, I had strictly told Wes that he was no longer allowed to have his perfectly-manicured nails of steel, and my back protested for my cause. (Though, despite what I had said in the negative spectrum, for a first it was rather good. I had been thoroughly electrified by what he referred to as his 'Drumstick', considering he was excelling in his top-notch band class.)

And while he always tried to be so careful when dealing with me, eventually his libido and the satiation of his sexual hunger would over-run his brain. This part of him always excited me, because he would do things that would normally be a strict no-no and turns into an 'oh god yes, harder! Harder!' (Despite how much I had tried to contain myself, I was always so vocal when I was almost at my climax. It always worried Wes, though; since he feared someone curious would hear my screams for more and send in their concerns to the office. Though, during a boring Monday after testing, we had tested how sound-proof the room was, and found out we could be as loud as we truly wanted without having to worry. Makes you wonder, huh?)

During these sexually lusting time-periods, he would do as he pleased, bending me in awkward positions to hit my prostrate with such force it would shake me, and a lot of the times I would end up with bruises and blisters. This never really bothered me though, since he would always cry and apologize for his barbaric tendencies, and attempt to caress me into a state of comfort for a small while. And during those few moments where he would simply hold me, and I wouldn't think of anything, and I'm sure he couldn't think of anything either, and I would fell nothing but pure and utter bliss. No fool could ever feel this way, no matter what argument Wes would say that 'being a fool is to know pure bliss'.

Blasphemy, I said. That entire sentence was a complete and utter falsehood. No one would ever believe that, I had spouted, and after a small argument and a small screwing, we would sit back and simply forget it all. And then, back to the holding and caressing.

It was the same, day in and day out, like it was all in some sort of system that went on and on, no matter the bumps and humps and screw ins, and screw outs. And as they say in fairy tales and all the other works of wood and wind, the way up and out is never too hard to find.

But, alas, the atlas never told me which way was up.

But, who knows? Maybe the way out has been there all along.

(x)

UGH. The ending was so sloppy and misplaced, not to mention it ended far too abruptly. (And what is up with me writing so much dirty stuff lately?)

Well, I'm not too keen on the ending, but I personally like the middle. (Despite the dirtiness.)

I hope someone at least _slightly_ likes it. :/


End file.
